


Entr'Acte: Out On Another Limb

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [197]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Chases, Destiel - Freeform, Detectives, Johnlock - Freeform, Killing, London, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Murder, Recovery, Revenge, Supernatural Elements, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Sherlock is in a race against time to save the man he loves – and it ends with a death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessgolux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessgolux/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

I do not think, even given all that I have faced in my time on this earth, that I had ever felt so absolutely horrified when my poor nephew – I always think of him thus even though there is no blood tie between us – told me that that terrible prophecy about something terrible on a limb might be coming true after all. My beloved John was in danger!

Tantalus caught me up at the street and clearly had his wits about him for he offered to go to the post office and wire Liverpool Street Station to get a special train ready for me. I thanked him and then endured one of the most horrendous cab-rides in my existence, as the driver pulled every trick he knew to earn the guinea that I had promised him if he got me there quickly enough. 

John had a considerable start on me and unfortunately I knew he was taking a semi-fast train before he could have to change at both Colchester and Wivenhoe to reach Brightlingsea. At least he was not particularly hurrying, and I perhaps owed my guardian angel at least some thanks that when I reached Liverpool Street the Great Eastern Railway amazingly had my special ready and waiting for me. I could only pray that I was not too late. 

It was a little under two hours to get to Brightlingsea even with a special. My train was putting on a good speed and I could see that it would be a close-run thing. I could not reach Colchester before him but I might or might not catch him by Wivenhoe, and I spent the whole journey pacing the carriage and staring anxiously at my watch.

The branch-line from Wivenhoe to Brightlingsea is but a few miles long and, frustratingly, I missed John by less than five minutes at the former station. I had to wait until his train had traversed the single line and reached its destination before my own could set off after it, and when we did finally reach an absurdly grand terminus building considering the size of the place I almost fell out of the train in my eagerness to find the man I loved. I had no idea what sort of danger was threatening him; I just had to reach him. I rushed up to a sleepy-looking porter.

“I am looking for a gentleman arrived by the last train”, I said urgently. “Short-cropped blond hair, well-dressed and carrying a dark brown doctor's bag.”

It seemed like half an age before his brain managed to judder into gear and he answered.

“Went out to the forecourt”, he said. “Said they were sending a carriage for him...”

For once I did not bother to tip for information (although I remedied that later) and raced along to the station exit. The last of the passengers from the local train had left but I could see through the frosted glass that there was still someone sat in the waiting-room. I sighed in relief.

What happened next made no sense when I looked back at it, so I shall try to narrate it as best I can. The door leading out to the station forecourt burst open and a scruffy middle-aged fellow burst through. For a brief moment I did not recognize him but then my blood ran cold. It was Mr. Alistair Campbell, the villain that we had netted on Futility Island not far from here (The Adventure Of The Tired Captain). And he had a gun!

It was about five strides to the door into the waiting-room from where I was standing, and I thought that I covered the distance smartly enough. But in that short yet incredibly long time two things happened. First and most terribly there was the sound of a gun being fired from inside the room. And second yet at almost the exact same moment, for some reason the villain _screamed_. 

I burst through the door at the same time that he fled through the opposite one; I would dearly loved to have hunted him down there and then but I had more pressing matters to hand. John was bleeding from a wound on his shoulder and stared at me in confusion. I thought at first that he was maybe in shock but then I realized that he was staring slightly over my right shoulder. I turned instinctively to look and I saw.....

_Me?_

I blinked. There was no-one there; just a fireplace with a mirror over it. I must have imagined it all in my shock. Then a groan came from the wounded man who I loved more than life itself and I pulled myself together. I had several very important things to attend to.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

My first two priorities were to defend John from any further danger and to get him well again. Over the next two days the doctors advised keeping him sedated for as long as possible so that he could have time to recover, and only on the third day did they consent to my having him moved. They were probably more than a little surprised that I organized this for the middle of the night, having already telegraphed Miss Charlotta Bradbury for the services of one of her best agents to find and keep tabs on Mr. Campbell. 

Miss Bradbury had arrived in person barely two hours after the shooting (impressive even by her standards), and as if I did not have enough to cope with she told me that there was something else that I should know. Mr. Alistair Campbell had long sworn that he would get either myself or John and had escaped from prison the previous week. She had learned of this at about the same time I had been fretting at Wivenhoe Junction and had come round to see me only to be redirected by the ever efficient Mrs. Singer. The authorities had informed my brother Bacchus of Mr. Campbell's escape some days back but he had 'forgotten' to pass the warning on, presumably in revenge for my involvement in the Mrs. Findlay case. I was going to _kill_ him!

Fortunately the ever-efficient Miss Bradbury had a plan for that. A few telegrams to the appropriate people and Bacchus would soon discover that there was no hole for him to crawl into this time, no matter how far he went. I was going to unleash the worst possible vengeance on the bastard – _for starters!_

Once I was sure that John was sleeping I had him spirited away to a top hospital near London, and it so pained me that I had to remain in the town to maintain the illusion that he was still here. A second of Miss Bradbury's agents then made sure to leak a certain address to Mr. Campbell, and once I knew that he had it I made my way back to the capital stopping only to call in at John's bedside. Seeing him broken like that because of me was too much and I wept openly in the small room before pulling myself together and leaving. I had to be ready for the events of that night.

֍

The house that I had chosen was that of a close family friend who lived in Hanover Square, a quiet area between Regent Street and Oxford Street. He was away enjoying a night at Claridge's at my (all right, Gaillard's) expense, and when I arrived my agents had already set up a small room as fitting for a recuperating patient, complete with all the paraphernalia a recovering patients needs but probably does not really want. They had even arranged a small automatic pump fed by a pipe from the next room so that the heap underneath the bedclothes rose and fell periodically as if by someone's breathing. Mercifully it was a warm March day so there was a good reason to leave a small window in the upstairs room slightly open. The balcony was easily accessible to someone of Mr. Campbell's athletic abilities, I reckoned.

I made a show of leaving the house once it was dark as I was sure that Mr. Campbell was waiting outside. The cab took me round to the back of the house and I re-entered; I was sure my quarry would wait a few moments just to be sure that I was gone. In the event it was a full half-hour before I heard someone fiddling at the window and a lithe figure slipped through and into the room. I could see the glint of steel in the moonlight – the moon was still nearly full – as he moved across to the heaped figure in the bed. I allowed myself a smirk from behind the screen.

My quarry was clearly suspicious at the large mass beneath the covers, but he crept steadily nearer until with a swift move, he removed all the blankets in a single move. It was a pity that his back was to me at the time because I would have quite liked to have seen the look of shock in his eyes, although the look I got when he heard me move round the screen behind him was quite satisfactory. Then he snorted.

“Should've known it was a set-up”, he sneered. “Back to clink for me, eh? Don't you worry, Mr. Holmes. They can't keep Bad Al Campbell inside for ever. And when I do get out I'll be coming for you first next time!”

I smiled darkly and levelled my gun at him. His bluster vanished as if it had never been and his eyes widened in terror.

“You're... you're not gonna.....”

Gentle reader, I did.

֍

A mystery benefactor had arranged an _impromptu_ fireworks display for the children of the square that night so one extra report was not noticed. There was also some delicious irony in that the fisherman who was recompensed more than adequately to dispose of a large wooden crate that night normally plied his trade along the Essex coast. Mr. Campbell's remains might well end up somewhere near Futility Island again as his body finally served a useful purpose in its time polluting this earth – as fish food.

Now back to my beloved John. And then..... _Bacchus!_

֍


End file.
